The Haunted Bog
by Bineshii
Summary: Trip and T'Pol take up the task of solving a mystery at the request of an old college roommate of Trip's mother. The setting of this story is in Lubec, Maine and on Campobello Island.   This is a sequel to my story A Mystic Experience'.


Disclaimer: No filthy lucre changed hands.

Rating: K+

The Haunted Bog

By Bineshii

Chapter One

Caroline Tucker sighed as she opened the attic trunk where she had stored Lizzy's things. It was hard, but it was time. She was 'borrowing' from the dishware that she had bought for Lizzy, a surprise for her daughter's wedding – whenever Lizzy would have finally decided to settle down with some nice man. Of course now, that would never be.

Ah, this must be the box of fine china tea cups. She lifted it out carefully, slit the tape with a fingernail, pulled the top open, and folded back the tissue. Yes, she was sure this was a fine enough gift for an anniversary present for her son and a Vulcan daughter-in-law who had given her a beloved grandchild almost two years ago. This tea set would be employed at dinner tonight and if T'Pol liked it, the complete set of dishware would pass on to the next generation of Tuckers. Yes, a fine anniversary present that should have gone to them long ago if Caroline had been able to part with it. Again she sighed, for she also had a favor to ask them.

….

T'Pol set her tea cup gently back into the elegant saucer. She glanced at Trip. Through their bond, she knew he was considering his mother's request. T'Pol thought she would help the decision along. "Caroline, that was a most excellent pot of Vulcan spice tea. May Trip and I take some of the tea with us when we go to Maine? I am sure your former college roommate would enjoy it as much as I have."

Trip did a double take, his face shifting between T'Pol and his mother.

"So you have discussed this and it is decided," smiled Caroline. "I am so glad. And I will take good care of little Les-beth, just as well, whether it is to be Hawaii or Maine."

"I guess it IS decided, then." The corner of Trip's mouth rose slightly as he sent a flick of confusion telepathically to T'Pol. But his smile broadened in resignation. He had been wondering how he was going to talk T'Pol into a trip to Maine rather than a vacation in Hawaii.

"Well," said Caroline, folding her hands on the table in front of her, "then, I think I should fill you in a little more on what Marybeth told me. It is not that I believe in supernatural things, certainly not in vampires. But someone has been stalking children on the shoreline walking paths that start near West Quoddy Head lighthouse and on the bog nature walkways that veer off from the shore paths. Also, incidents have occurred on the bog walks on Campobello Island. This may be just a prankster, but when it comes to the safety of children, especially her own grandchildren, Marybeth is right. Something should be done."

Trip relaxed by leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out under the table. As a child, his mother had made him sit up straight but his father had always gotten away with slouching after the meal was over. The first time Trip had tried it as an adult, his mother had frowned at him but said nothing. And now, it was no longer a conscious act, Charles II and Charles III just assumed the posture as a sign that the meal was concluded. So table manners were not on Trip's mind tonight – the proposed mission was. "Mother, this is really a job for the local police."

Caroline's forehead wrinkled slightly. Life since the Xindi attack had not been easy for her. If it were not for those deepening lines in her forehead, Trip thought she looked a lot like Lizzy in the soft dinning room candlelight.

"Trip, Lubec is the least spoiled area in Maine and the tourists love it that way. The lighthouse at West Quoddy Head is the furthest point east in what used to be the country of the United States, before there was the United North American Federation which was before the United Earth Gov. But you know all that from elementary school. Anyway, tourism is a big part of the local economy Down East these days."

Caroline turned to T'Pol to say, "That's the eastern most seaboard section of Maine."

She looked back at Trip and continued. "Marybeth feels that if they step up uniformed patrols of the area, tourists will start asking questions and be scared away." Caroline paused and took a deep breath. "Besides, she feels she knows who this might be and wishes to solve this quietly. Some guy who used to live in Lubec and liked to take walks in the bog. Now I know you two are trained in Starfleet to take care of yourselves and to solve security problems. So I am confident that you will be able to track down this…prankster without alarming the tourists. I hope to heaven he is not something worse, but my gut feeling from Marybeth is that he is not, just a sad case who should be given some slack. If you don't figure this out in a week's time, of course it must be made a matter for the police."

"Alright, Mother. Okay, T'Pol?"

"Of course. We will leave for Maine tomorrow."

….

Trip fit the rented aircar into the long term small aircraft parking spot with no trouble. After powering down thrusters, Trip turned to see T'Pol opening the hatch, their bags beside her.

"We have to walk over to the airbus terminal area of this Bangor International Airport. I have noted the best route. It should take us 5.5 minutes," said T'Pol. "Why do airports still have 'international' in their names when there are no more nations?"

Trip picked up his bag and hopped out of the aircar. "Tradition, I would guess." He secured the door and they headed for the terminal.

A woman rose from a bank of seats filled with travelers sitting next to piles of luggage. She extended a hand as she approached. "Hello there, I am Marybeth and I know you must be Charles and T'Pol Tucker. Welcome to Maine. Charles, you look just like your dad now. How time passes. You used to be such a charming little guy but unable to keep your hands off anything mechanical."

"That description still applies. Greetings, Marybeth, friend of my mate's mother." T'Pol started to offer the Vulcan greeting, but lowered her hand and timidly took Marybeth's.

Marybeth's gaze took in T'Pol, but in a friendly way. She held Trip's hand a little longer than T'Pol's, then gave his arm a pat with her other hand.

The hovercar trip to Lubec took only forty-five minutes on the highway, the car skimming along a couple of inches above the roadbed surface.

"Thought you'd like to see a bit of the scenery, otherwise you could have taken your aircar all the way to Eastport across the Passamaquoddy Bay from Lubec. You were here in Lubec as a very small boy, Charles. Do you remember?"

"Only vague impressions. My mother said it was hard for her to keep up with me. She was very pregnant with Lizzy then."

Marybeth's face took on a sad cast. "Yes, your beautiful baby sister. Do you know she was named after my middle name?"

T'Pol glanced at Trip who seemed to be fishing for how to answer, so she spoke. "Do you mean the Beth part of your name?"

"Exactly. My middle name is tacked onto my first name, sounds nicer than plain old Mary."

Not wanting to go into the sad memories of their first child, T'Pol said: "Our two year old daughter also possesses Elizabeth as a…middle name, with her first name being a tribute to my mother, now deceased."

Marybeth brightened. "What a nice way to honor the memory of two people. It keeps families together, don't you think? My own family goes back over three hundred years in this part of the country, way back to when parts of our family lived in different nations with a border running right through our community. We used to have customs stations at all the bridges and car ferry terminals. There were bridges and car ferries between the mainland sections and islands of both the U. S. and Canada. Now the ferries are gone, though the bridges are kept up for hovercars. And island hopping is now done with low flying shuttlecraft. My grandmother lived in Canada – Campobello Island, but shopped and worked in the U.S. Her brother lived in Lubec, which was on the U.S. side, but fished in both Canadian and U.S. waters. The border was a mild nuisance but did not stop us from being one community."

"What an interesting arrangement," said T'Pol. "Perhaps the Federation will one day become essentially one community."

"That is a hopeful sentiment, T'Pol. And one that touches us even at the extreme end of the eastern seaboard megalopolis. It used to be just from Boston to Washington D.C. but extended to Bangor by the 21st century. Of course we are still recovering from the Third World War of over a century ago. I know we have a lot to thank your people for in aiding us with that." She smiled at T'Pol.

T'Pol gave Marybeth a small nod of acknowledgement and Marybeth turned back to the highway, continuing with the orientation to her community. "The population has still not recovered to where it was at the peak of the megalopolis growth. And I would hope we have learned some lessons from that time. Back then, the seaside resort buildup had been creeping from Bar Harbor up toward our little community. All the waterfront property was bought up by the late 20th century, but fortunately it never as been completely developed. We still have paths along the beaches, tide water pools, and unspoiled views on top of the sea cliffs. Also, there are remnants of forest and bog areas when you move back from the shore. These are now protected. They draw the tourists from around the world and even from beyond our world. Our other local industry is aquaculture in sheltered bays, with some fishing still done on the ocean.

T'Pol was enjoying the ride, but in Vulcan fashion decided to get to the main reason for their visit. "You mentioned the bogs. Is not that the location of these troubling encounters of children and vampires?"

Marybeth unconsciously slowed the vehicle a bit. "Your mother told me she had filled you in on much of this problem, so I won't feed you a lot of boring details until you have had a chance to settle in and do a little touring yourselves. It is a vexing situation, but has not escalated into anyone being harmed. No adults have encountered this individual. It seems he takes pleasure in scaring children on the nature trails. Somewhat of a self-styled protector of the environment. And the rough descriptions given of a short, portly guy who limps slightly, remind me of someone who used to live in Lubec. Someone who took solitary walks in the bog. As a boy, he used to say he hated people and that plants were his only friends."

Marybeth turned off the highway, lowering the vehicle's wheels which jarred a bit as they engaged the surface of the exit lane. They turned onto a two lane road and entered Lubec. Then she continued her story.

"The children, when pressed, admitted they had wondered off the designated paths or were picking protected flowers. The man would suddenly appear and in a strange accent, warn them to "desist their illegal environmental damage activities." Actually, he was right. But his manner was very frightening and threatening in the children's perception. He dressed in a heavy long coat which is too warm for hot summer days and made him look straight out of an old vampire movie. And his skin looked sickly, bruised, the kids thought. But he never touched the children. In fact, he actually backed away when a teenager challenged him. The teenage boy went to grab the guy's arm because he had scared his younger brother. The man glared at him, shied away from actually physical contact and disappeared quickly into the woods. That kinda rules out the sickly part, but some physically ill people are capable of brief bursts of energy."

"Strange," commented Trip. "Very strange. Sounds a little off his rocker."

"We don't think he is mentally ill. Well, not alarmingly so, if he is who I suspect he is." Marybeth said as she turned off the road onto a gravel driveway and stopped at the side of a two-story wood frame house.

_This house could use a coat of paint_, thought Trip. _ But the weather here must be rough on paint. The sea air must not be easy on houses._

_But it is charming_, T'Pol answered telepathically, _Human architecture has such regional variety._

The house was welcoming inside, delightful in a Down East practical way. The high ceilings were of an era before the numerous ranch style homes were built on housing tracts, themselves succeeded by homes with solar heating that tucked into the natural contours of the land.

Before they even got settled in, Marybeth's cousin Matt dropped by, obviously curious about her visitors. He deposited a box of lobsters on the kitchen table. The introduction was followed shortly by an invitation to accompany him the next time he went out to check his lobster pots and do a little whale watching afterward. All visitors wanted to do some whale watching, Matt informed them.

They accepted Matt's offer, Trip with delight, T'Pol with trepidation. T'Pol had taken a look at the incoming tide rushing under the bridge to Campobello Island in the Lubec Narrows, when Marybeth pointed it out on their way to her house. She had read up on the Bay of Fundy on her wireless padd on the flight to Maine: photos of boats stranded on their sides when the low tide had retreated out from beneath them, then riding high when the tide returned. There was nothing like this on Vulcan.

T'Pol later stood in their bedroom with her arms crossed. "Why don't we go clam digging instead? At low tide, the beach goes out very far and the clams are plentiful."

"T'Pol, Marybeth said that clam digging was done by people who had no other way to earn a bit of extra cash, especially the local kids. I don't want to poach on their territory."

She considered this logical and abandoned the argument. Most of the time her Trip was correct. Trying something new, like deep water boating, would be fun when she overcame her Vulcan stubbornness, as he called it. She crossed the room, her feet enjoying the hard wood of the floor, then the corded feel of the braided area rug, then the floor again, as she entered the bathroom to freshen up before dinner. She really was looking forward to exploring yet another of the Terran environments which seemed as diverse as the cultures which populated this world.

….

T'Pol was kneeling on the wooden boardwalk watching a mosquito slowly abandoning its struggles inside a pitcher plant, so Trip whipped out his camera and snapped off a shot. "Hey, Hon, on Earth even plants eat meat."

"So I am observing. I read about this when I was in school on Vulcan."

"But not curious enough to take a holiday to observe this when you lived at the Vulcan compound in San Francisco?"

"No. It was not relevant to my duties there."

"See what you were missing? All these nice vacations."

"True. But this is not supposed to be a vacation. We are on a mission for your mother's school friend."

Having reminded herself of the mission, T'Pol stood and slowly turned in a circle to scan the bog. A child standing in the center of the bog could surely see a strange man approaching for quite a distance. But near the entrance at either end of the boardwalk, a man could emerge from the trees suddenly. "Where was Jennifer standing when she saw her vampire?"

"At the ocean side of the boardwalk. The man was approaching from the other side of the bog."

"And she was picking needles to make Labrador tea?"

"Right," said Trip. "She glanced up, saw that he was just entering the bog from the far side, and thought she had time to harvest all she needed before he got close enough to see what she was doing. When she looked up again, he was right in front of her. 'He flew,' she said."

"Upon questioning, she admitted that she did not actually observe him in flight," said T'Pol. "He just arrived more quickly than she thought was possible. Hence he must be a vampire."

Trip said: "Yeah, perhaps she was so intent on picking off those needles that more time passed than she thought."

"Possibly."

Trip started walking back toward the shore path. "Well, I think we have learned all we can from this site. Want to go over to the island and check out the other bog?"

T'Pol stood motionless, thinking. She could hear the waves behind her and see across the bog to the tree line. "Trip, we should walk all the way across the bog, and check out the paths beyond it, where the man came from."

"Logical, as ever." Trip consulted the tourist birding map. "Seems we can circle around the bog from there, and join back onto the shore path. It will take an hour or so, and I will be ready for a crabmeat sandwich by then."

They tramped over the boardwalk as it wound its way to the tree line. Stepping up onto solid ground, they found this side of the bog was just as delightful as the sea cliff side. But it had been wood chipped here, deeper soil than the thin layer on the cliff walk where exposed roots crisscrossed the path. Trip's eyes were drawn to the ground moss and occasional rock. "Many nice mediation spots, T'Pol. It's peaceful here. I'm surprised this has not attracted more of your people."

A slight breeze ruffled T'Pol's hair. For a moment the sun brought out an almost reddish highlight which reminded Trip of T'Les…and his daughter. There was an occasional redhead in both their families. This fact had surprised Trip.

"Over here."

T'Pol was squatting a meter off the trail. Trip looked down to see the imprint of a boot.

"Too bad we don't have equipment to take an impression."

T'Pol pulled a padd out of her jacket, and activated the measuring function. Then she photographed it with the same padd. "This will at least be helpful. We will share this with the local authorities."

"It might be the imprint of a tourist's foot."

"Perhaps, but few tourist come to this side of the bog except for the more avid naturalists and birdwatchers."

The path did indeed wind around the bog and back to the shore. Trip and T'Pol reclaimed their vehicle from the West Quoddy Head lighthouse parking lot and drove to a food concession stand at the Lubec side of the bridge to Campobello Island. It offered crab sandwiches and Pizza.

T'Pol finished her crab salad and sat with her elbows resting on the picnic table, gazing out at the water flowing swiftly under the bridge. A boat passed under the bridge heading seaward. So fast, the water of these narrows. The boat was moving without sails up and perhaps without its auxiliary motor. No, she did not want to go out there, but did not want her mate to go alone. Marybeth said Matt had been handling boats since he was old enough to climb into the pilot's chair. She took another look at the swiftly moving water and shuddered.

A few minutes later, they flew over the bridge in Marybeth's small electric hovercar, past the cement blocks on which the customs stations used to rest.

"We have two hours before we pick up Marybeth from her shift as a guide at the Roosevelt cottage," said Trip. "Would you like to see it?"

"Yes. Marybeth promised us a private tour. She said we could even duck under the guide ropes and wander into the rooms if we like. I guess rules for Terran museums are meant to be broken, unlike the strict protocol in Vulcan museums."

"I am not so sure about that. You don't think VIP's are allowed additional privileges in Vulcan museums? I don't think we would do any harm to the Roosevelt cottage. Here is our turn off to the other bog."

The gravel drive was rougher than the pavement and Trip slowed the car. This bog looked like its counterpart on the other side of the Lubec Channel. Thinking about what Trip had said earlier, yes, her people were fascinated by Earth's rich biological variety. T'Pol had heard that this bog environment was one of the many that fascinated biologists from her own world when they first were allowed to roam freely on the Terran planet.

When she and Trip had visited V'Lar after her retirement on Vulcan, the former ambassador had related how the Vulcan Science Academy documentaries about Earth shown on the public media had acquired an avid following right after first contact with the Terran world. Padd-books on Terran microclimates filled Vulcan bookstores and went out-of-stock an hour after each new order arrived. They were more popular than similar publications about the Trill world which had been discovered shortly before the Terran world.

Trip snatched up the backpack, though T'Pol knew she could carry it more easily. Well, she had carried it through the other bog, and he was always adamant about doing his share of the totin' as he called it. T'Pol stopped to read each signboard, intrigued by the variety of bog plants that had adapted to a low oxygen soil.

Three children ran by them on the boardwalk, their parents trailing behind, stopping to photograph birds. Trip slowed to listen to them as they came up to him and T'Pol; he turned to them. "Have you folks been to the other bog yet? The one across the channel in Lubec?"

"No, that's for tomorrow. We want to climb up inside the lighthouse there, West Quoddy Head. I hear it's a great view. You can see where the channel bay enters the Bay of Fundy and you get an overview of the bog. Have you been up the lighthouse?"

Trip admitted that they had not.

"Well," said the children's father, "we wanted to do that because we were not allowed up the East Quoddy Head lighthouse yesterday. It's right at the end of this island. Actually it is on its own little island, but at low tide you can walk across to it. You two should really see it if you haven't yet. Just be sure to check the times for the tides because you could be trapped out there for at least eight hours if you don't have a com unit to call for an aircar. And none of the buildings are open. Being the only wooden lighthouse left around here, they don't open it or its service buildings. Eight hours. That long stuck out there with my kids and I would consider our vacation over." He grinned at T'Pol, his eyes roaming up and down her petite form.

Trip stepped sideways to partially obscure the man's view of his mate. "Thanks. We will look into it."

The man nodded and stepped past them, spotting his children halfway across the bog and yelling "Hey, stop right there until we catch up! And don't pick anything!" One child was lying prone on the boardwalk and splashing a hand in the water, and was disturbing some plants. The woman forced a brittle smile while staring at T'Pol's ears, then glared at her husband, shoving him forward with a hand. Trip and T'Pol stood silently until they were well ahead down the boardwalk.

T'Pol then whispered to her mate: "I suggest we do our exploring at times when Human tourists are not likely to be around. That woman's animosity toward me hit like a telepathic tsunami."

Trip gripped T'Pol's hand in both of his, inviting her to bled off the negativity, dumping it physically into him. She let him take a little of her anxiety, and then repressed the rest. She sighed audibly, and they moved on, taking a branch of the boardwalk where it split off so they would not be following the Human family.

Trip took the lead this time, and they explored the bog without finding new clues in their vampire case. Each signboard was dutifully read, both of them taking turns reading out loud. By the time they returned to their vehicle, the energetic children and irritating parents had long gone.

Marybeth was just saying goodbye to the last of the day's tourists and hanging the closed sign on the Roosevelt cottage gift shop. One woman remained at her side and made furtive glances at Trip and T'Pol. When they approached, she nodded to acknowledge them but walked quickly to a car, got in, and spun tires on the gravel drive in an apparent hurry to leave.

Marybeth, however, welcomed them with a warm Down East smile. T'Pol was amazed at how many different ways Humans could smile. It ran the range of deeply loving to ragged murderous intent. She never knew how a day with multiple Human contacts would end, or how much the Vulcan psyche would be emotionally battered over the course of it.

They entered the cottage and Marybeth closed the door and flipped the door lock. Turning to them, her eyes took on a sad cast. "That was Annie Lawson who just left. She appreciates your investigating this case, but is too upset to talk to you right now. You see, this latest vampire incident has her convinced that it is her estranged son, Gary, who may be the culprit."

Marybeth motioned Trip and T'Pol to follow and while she walked, she talked. She kept turning back to address them as she led them along a hallway. "The boy left Lubec many years ago after being arrested under suspicion of child abuse. His own illegitimate child. A two year old whose mother left Gary to baby sit while she was working. Gary said the child fell down the front porch steps while they were playing tag. I knew Gary as a boy, not a mean bone in his body. A sad boy. Didn't play much with other kids because he bruised easily, from hemophilia. Always had a pale look and many times, huge bluish-green bruises. And he dressed in heavy clothing to buffer his body against that bruising. He was always careful not to injure himself and that's why I don't think he would endanger a child, especially his own little boy. The mother did not believe him about that fall down the steps. She seemed embarrassed to have had a brief relationship with a geek, as she called him."

They turned down another hallway and Marybeth stopped, hand poised on a cord hooked across an open doorway, but continued to talk. "There was no proof one way or the other about that fall and he was released. But he was embarrassed about his arrest and left Lubec. Went to Bangor to find a computer job. He wouldn't even give his mother an address or phone number because he thought she would badger him to return home. She probably would have. He always called her on her birthday in February but didn't call her for her most recent birthday. Well now, enough of this. Here we are at the main living room. It has a great view of the bay from up here on the hill."

As Marybeth led them through the comfortable, yet simply furnished rooms of the cottage, the smell of the place was pleasant to T'Pol. The rustic style was not ostentatious considering the wealth of the people who had vacationed here. It seemed to T'Pol the family valued solitude and quiet intellectual pursuits. She had read that this family had faced life with fortitude and enjoyed the outdoor environment with zest. This was typified by the wicker picnic basket sitting on a table in the large kitchen. The basket had been Eleanor's. T'Pol saw it in use in a photo with the family sitting around it, right on the grass. This might be another Human family that Vulcans could stand to socialize with…for short periods of course. She was glad she had decided to view the cottage as they had planned, rather than insist that her mate take her back to their room in Marybeth's house so she could meditate. She was now looking forward to tomorrow's whale watching excursion.

….

The next morning they walked single file through the narrow hallway of Matt's small house and out into the dark cement floored garage. Matt lifted the wide articulated garage door and light streamed in on haphazardly stacked lobster pots. He rummaged in a faded yellow plastic crate, flipping aside several rain slickers until he held one up and glanced at T'Pol. The pipe bounced in his mouth as he addressed her. "This was Amy's. She used to go out with me all the time, but now she's away at college near Bangor, and I think she will be gone for good once she gets her teaching degree." He twisted the slicker front to back, back to front, and then tossed it to T'Pol. "Got one'll fit you already on the boat," Matt told Trip.

They walked down the hill from the house and across a two-laned, pot-hole dotted road. Walking along the gravel at the road edge, T'Pol noticed that this part of town was rundown and lonely. Matt turned between two old wooden buildings mostly bare of faded red paint.

"Ancient canneries," he said. "The fish farms in the sheltered bays have more modern processing plants right on site or ship their product off to packing plants in the cities. Occasionally someone tries to fix up these old buildings for tourist shops or casinos or something. That is why they haven't completely fallen down yet."

The way was narrow with tall grasses on both sides of a bare earthen path between these buildings with boarded up windows. It led to a pier on Lubec Narrows which was high above the water, the spindly wooden posts and beams appearing old and vulnerable. T'Pol repressed her concern and followed the men down the vertical ladder to the boat far below. Its mooring lines were secured around the wooden posts so that they slipped down them as the tide went out.

_Another meter lower, and the boat would have hit bottom_, T'Pol thought.

The tidal range was seven meters here, and they were almost down to bare sea floor. Matt confirmed this when he said they would have to hurry to catch the last of the retreating tide. It would push them out to the big bay without using the motor much.

Matt invited T'Pol into the pilot house but indicated with one hand and a few cryptic words that Trip was to release the mooring lines and bring in the fenders and stow them in their cages hooked to the rail. T'Pol followed Matt into the pilot house and watched him prime the old gas engine, pumping a lever back and forth before turning the key.

Out on the boat deck, Trip heard the engine sputter then roar steadily. _Must be a four cycle, as it did not put-put like the two cycle outboard motor on the runabout Lizzy and I used to play around in,_ Trip mused.

He reached for the handhold on the outside of the pilot house as the pier posts started to move backward. Through the water-stained wood pilings, he could see the long fishing lines of a couple of guys that were sitting up top on the other side of the pier, their long, heavy ocean fishing poles couched between the slats of the flat wooden decking up there. He made a mental note to borrow a couple of those poles and spend an afternoon on the pier with T'Pol. Maybe engaging some of the sport fisherman in conversation might turn up more clues in this vampire mystery.

The boat turned into the channel with the retreating tide and picked up speed without an appreciable increase in motor noise. The boat rocked only slightly, so Trip let go his hold and joined the other two in the pilot house.

"Coffee?" Mattt asked, throwing his chin at a thermos tucked into a shelf with a lip so things would not roll off onto the deck.

"Not yet," both T'Pol and Trip chorused, as they settled onto a bench behind the steering station. They watched the land slip by, assuming a companionable Down East silence as the boat moved toward a fog shrouded Grand Manan Island in the distance on their portside and out into the Bay of Fundy. When the thirty-five foot trawler hit the long swells, Trip stood and took four rolling steps over to the wheel to stand beside Matt. The man still held the pipe in his teeth but it had been unlit since he entered the pilot house.

Matt noticed Trip's glance. He grinned, yellow stained teeth revealed in a wide grin. "My wife doesn't let me smoke in the house. Says it's bad for her asthma. So I don't smoke inside on the boat no more neither. She sometimes helps on the boat."

Trip nodded. "Thanks."

They spent four hours lifting out lobster pots and throwing them back into the sea. Matt showed them how to handle the lobsters and band their claws so they would not get pinched in the process. Finally Matt covered the tank where the lobsters moved weakly. "Enough of this now. Whales."

They headed further out, scanning the sea for dark humpy shadows in the swells. T'Pol was feeling a bit queasy in the cabin.

Trip had been watching for this and hustled her out on deck. "You will feel better out here, than in an enclosed space, Darlin."

"Logical. I do feel better out here. I will be alright." T'Pol gripped the rail and leaned over the water studying the bow wave, but quickly straightened as a wave of dizziness hit. "I never was space sick. The streaming of stars passing the portholes never bothered me. It is illogical that I would be seasick."

"It's the motion, Darlin. Old fishing boats don't have inertial dampers."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Nor do they have tractor beams – they use towlines. Nor do they have re-sequencers, they have slow heating alcohol stoves. And the content of the head's tank does not get recycled on board. It gets pumped out back at the pier. Matt gave me a short tour of the pilot house and forward cabin while you were out on deck."

Trip grinned. "Oh, some have re-sequencers. But this is a two-hundred year old family work boat. Ya gotta get used to the local culture. Its kinda quaint. Relaxing, in a labor intensive kinda way."

"So I am noticing," T'Pol said as she brushed her mate's hand in a two-finger kiss which they held until Trip let go to point off the port beam.

"Thar she blows!" He shouted toward the cabin through the wind of the boat's movement.

Matt rapped knuckles on the pilot house window and nodded. The boat changed course slightly, heading for the plume of water shooting up from a dark form a half mile off. The form disappeared, and then appeared again between the swells. T'Pol gripped the rail with both hands. Trip, holding on with one hand, put his other arm around T'Pol's waist and pulled her closer. He felt her shivering a bit under her slicker in the damp ocean air on this overcast day.

The whale was growing larger as the boat rose on each swell allowing them to see it. No, two whales. A half-grown calf hugged the side of his mother.

"We won't go any closer," Matt leaned toward them out of the window. "She will be very protective." He had a pair of binoculars dangling from a hand hanging out the window. Trip leaped over and grabbed them.

As Trip was readjusting the lens on the binoculars, T'Pol was tracking the whale with her eyes and each time they topped a swell, she pointed.

"These are almost useless with all the bouncing around," said Trip, letting the binoculars fall against his chest. He followed T'Pol's arm and squinted. Yeah, he could see the whale. Okay! The smaller shape humped up beside the larger one. It dove, flipping a miniature whale tail up – then that too slide down into the water and disappeared. Trip's heart pounded. He had traversed a vast amount of the celestial void, yet rarely had he been astounded by such a sight. Dolphins, he had swum with on vacation with his sister years ago. But nothing as regal as this. "Lizzy, look! Look at this!"

T'Pol gripped her mates hand. She bit her tongue to keep from saying "I am not Lizzy. Lizzy is dead." Instead, she said: "She sees. Her katra perceives. I believe it is so, Thy'la. She sees and so do I."

Trip looked embarrassed. "Sorry about that, T'Pol," he rasped. "I know you are not Lizzy."

"No apology is needed. The bond with your sister, like your bond with me, is unbreakable. This is a moment of joy, shared by three."

Trip swallowed hard. No wonder he loved this woman so much.

"Look down!" Matt shouted behind them.

Trip glanced back at the pilot house. It was empty. Matt was outside at the rail. "Another one," Matt shouted. Then he ran back inside and the motor went dead.

"What?" called Trip.

Matt appeared in the window. "It is right under us. I don't want to injure it with the propeller."

Trip leaned over the rail. Then he pushed back and ran over to the other side of the boat and leaned over that side.

T'Pol joined him, bumping into his back with the boat's motion. "Did it strike the boat?"

"No," Trip whispered, "I don't think so. That is just the water action."

Slowly the water beside the boat drained away as a black hulk emerged, seemingly moving out from under the boat. It WAS moving out from under the boat. Now it was entirely beside the boat. A jet of spray shot up from a depression on top of the shape and a shower descended over them, pelting Trip and T'Pol and running down the pilot house windows on the starboard side.

Trip pulled T'Pol down, sitting on the deck, gripping her and the railing. Then, the whale's body rose even with the deck, and staring into their own eyes from five feet away was a huge, appraising whale's eye. Time became suspended. T'Pol sensed a calm curiosity, an alien intelligence. The eye slowly blinked, breaking the rapture and sank back into the sea. She leaned through the railing to see the whale's back slipping under the boat, slowly, gently, and only INCHES beneath it. Yet not touching the boat at all. It was as if the leviathan was showing off its skill, playing with the boat.

T'Pol took a breath and pushed her feet into the deck until her back was against the pilot house. The sense of the whale diminished, yet the awe remained. The sense, had it been a mind touch? Something had touched her mind gently, something other than Trip. But now he flooded into her mind with concern, excitement, wishing to share this experience in their own special way. She ran her fingers down his wet cheek. "Whale breath," she said. "A whale has blown its breath on us."

"How poetic," said Trip. "You are the poet in the family because all I can say is Wow!"

A half hour later, the whales were behind them as they sipped coffee in the pilot house and hung wet towels over the back of the bench and pilot's chair. The sun was peeking out intermittently. Matt shoed them out of the pilot house to take in the scenery as they returned to the pier. They took off their slickers and spread them on the wet deck so they could sit cross legged and feel the thrum of the engine through the deck. It was peaceful.

T'Pol had been scanning the shoreline as they moved back toward Lubec Channel, specifically the cliff path they had walked on the other day when returning from the bog. She stiffened. "Trip! I do believe I heard a child's scream of fright. Help me scan along that path."

"Sure, T'Pol," and he lifted the binoculars still hanging from his neck.

"There." T'Pol pointed.

Trip adjusted the binoculars as he leaned forward against the boat rail to steady himself. "Yes! A child running along toward the lighthouse. Toward West Quoddy Head light."

"And two people running from the light house to meet the child, I believe," said T'Pol.

"You have excellent eyesight, T'Pol, and good ears." Matt's head was sticking out the open window of the pilot house again. "Can you hear what they are saying?"

"No, they are too far."

Matt kicked up the motor's speed and the bow rose higher. Then he yelled out the window again: "Well whatever has happened…has already happened. We are heading back now, anyway. Whatever it is, it will be all over town by the time we tie up. We will soon know."

Chapter Two

The girl was ten years old. Her tear stained face was focused on the dull metal table top in a back room of the police station. She hiccupped violently every few seconds and the motion of the hiccup rocked her slim body, causing strands of chin length hair to stick to her face. Whenever this happened, she peevishly brushed the hair back and took a quick look at Trip's face. She had ignored T'Pol after one look at her ears, sidling over to her mother, then trying to hide behind her. Her mother sat next to her now – holding her hand but insisting that her daughter tell the policeman all.

"I am not a policeman," Trip had told her. "I am only helping them."

He and T'Pol had been allowed in the police station after it was learned that they were the Starfleet security experts invited by Marybeth to look into the case. A cousin of Marybeth was on the force and had received the footprint evidence T'Pol had given them. The girl had immediately taken to Trip, so he was allowed to question her.

"Okay, Honey, you must tell us all of it. The more you can tell us, even if it is embarrassing, will help us catch this guy so he won't be scaring any other children."

"You listen to him," said the mother. "Or next time, it could be your little brother."

The girl's finger tips played with the edge of the table. "I wasn't doing nothing wrong. Nothing at all, just walking up the trail."

Then she fell silent for a few minutes while Trip looked intently at her. He didn't consciously know it, but he was well practiced with drawing out little girls, a skill developed as a young boy when he often had charge of a younger sister. This skill had transferred to the most unlikely situation when it had worked on a highly intelligent and accomplished alien woman.

Trip's eyes calmed the girl, so when her mother prompted "And then?" the girl sat up straighter, stilled her nervous fingers and spoke.

"And then, he was there. Just like the kids at the motel were saying he would come. Long heavy coat. Evil eyes."

"Evil how," asked Trip. "It's okay, Honey, just try to remember."

"Dark. Dark eyes and a mean face. He told me to put the flowers down and I dropped them anyway because my hands were shaking."

"You said you weren't doin' nothing wrong!" Her mother glared. "We told you kids not to touch any plants. And you were specifically told what would happen if you ever lied to me again! Honestly, I don't know what I ever did to deserve a child like you!"

The girl started to cry.

Trip leaned forward. "Please, Mrs. Pascoe, If she tells us the truth now, can you just let it go this time? I think she has already received punishment for picking those flowers."

"Well, okay. Andrea, just this once, and I really mean it this time. Not for you, but for them other kids that might be saved from this molester. Remember what we told you about strangers and molesters?"

Andrea blanched and threw her arms around her mother. It took five minutes for Trip to get her talking again. But staring into Trip's sympathetic eyes, the girl told all she knew and her description matched that of the other children. "He talked like in them old vampire movies – a sing song kind of way, dragging the words out."

"Like this?" Trip asked and did his best Bela Lugosi imitation that had made his crewmates laugh on movie night onboard Enterprise.

"Yes," breathed Andrea, nodding vigorously.

After Andrea and her mother left, Trip and T'Pol and two police officers reviewed the vid made of the interview. They agreed they now had a good description of this man.

"Alright, Mr. and Mrs. Tucker, thanks for your help, but I think we can take it from here." The police chief's tone seemed to make this final. "Enjoy your stay in Lubec and be sure to stay clear of vampires, now." He grinned. "Although I am sure you have seen much stranger things out there in space."

….

Marybeth was actually relieved that the police were now taking the children's stories seriously. She wanted Trip and T'Pol to relax and enjoy the rest of their stay in Lubec while she played the good hostess that Caroline had been on Marybeth's frequent visits to Florida. So she went all out with this evening's dinner.

T'Pol was staring out the kitchen window that overlooked one of the many small sheltered bays and inlets of the Lubec area off Passamaquoddy Bay. She watched a woman in a flat bottomed boat scoop out a net full of tiny wriggling silver fish, examine them, then return them to the water. The woman picked up a paddle and moved the boat forward a few meters. Then she laid the paddle back inside the boat and lowered some kind of instrument on a rope into the water. After inspecting the instrument, she appeared to be entering data on a padd before picking up the net and examining more small fish. "Fascinating. Marybeth, we also have a limited aquaculture on my home world."

Marybeth glanced at T'Pol as she heaped a pyramid of clams on a plate. "A hundred fifty years ago there were small pleasure craft and trolling fishermen all over the bay. Now, it is entirely a commercial fish farm. A necessary change because it employs so many around here."

Trip took the plate from Marybeth. "These look great. I will just take a few and pass this dish around."

"No, that is YOUR dish. Here…" Marybeth passed another heaping dish to Trip, indicating it was for T'Pol.

"You have got to be kidding! All this…and then a lobster?"

"Yep," said Marybeth, wiping her hands on her apron. I don't let my guests starve around here."

Trip was wide-eyed. "This would cost us a fortune in New York City, maybe even in Bangor it would stretch our budget. I know I can't eat all of this. You won't mind if we leave some for later, do you? "

Marybeth plunked her ample frame into a chair in front of her own heaping dish. "No, I don't mind. But you would learn to eat like this if you had to spend your days working on the water, or digging clams on the shore. And about it costing a fortune, well, it is just our basic food around here." Marybeth laughed as she opened a clam shell. "There is an old, old joke. Why do people in Lubec pull down their window shades when they are having lobster for dinner?"

"I give up, why?" asked Trip.

"Because they don't want anyone to know they can't afford anything more than lobster."

"Amazing," T'Pol said, cracking open her fifth clam. "Vulcan mollusks taste nothing like this, yet shellfish is also an expensive dish on my home world because we have only one large sea in which they live."

Marybeth beamed at T'Pol. "Since our world became allied with yours, there has been a sharp upturn in aquaculture. One tenth of our production here goes to your world."

Trip looked at T'Pol in surprise. "I know you ate fish with my family at the Florida lake cottage, but I thought you were trying something new. So Vulcan imports fish? That is meat. I thought Vulcans were all vegetarians. You never ate one bit of meat on Enterprise."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow, a clam shell dangling in mid air between two of her fingers wrapped in a damp napkin. "We do not eat sentient life forms or life forms that approach sentience in their thought processes, such as sehlats. We used to, but not since Surak's time. We do not eat the products of enslaved life forms, such as milk and cheese. Crustaceans have a primitive nervous system. They do not feel pain. They do not think."

"The debate about what life forms feel pain can be extended even to plants," Trip grinned while chewing a clam. "But this fish eating is a new one on me. After a decade of working and living closely with a Vulcan, I'm still learning new things about your people, T'Pol."

"And I about yours. There is, however, a small group of Vulcans in the home world population that will not eat even crustaceans. Then, on some of our colony worlds, my people have found it logical to revert to a partial higher life form meat diet." T'Pol reached for another clam and efficiently split the shell.

"Logical?" Both of Trip's eyebrows shot up.

T'Pol looked back at him with a completely dignified demeanor, despite the drip of safflower butter running down her chin. "It is logical to do what is necessary to survive in trying circumstances."

Marybeth listened to the debating couple, elbows on the table, chin resting on her hands. She cocked her head in T'Pol's direction and observed "I can't imagine living on vegetables alone, though some Humans do. There is a farmer's market in Bangor where I like to shop. I talked with a group of Vulcans there once. They asked me how I prepared the foods we were picking over. Apparently there is not the variety of native vegetables on Vulcan that there is on Earth or even on a planet called Trill that they came into contact with about the same time as Earth."

"That is correct," admitted T'Pol. "My mother said my childhood was much richer than her own because our people were able to trade technology for new foods."

"Well, I for one can appreciate that," said Marybeth, glancing at her Vulcan-made food re-sequencer. "But I am sure you folks will like fresh lobster, seeing how these clams have disappeared." She pushed back her chair to go check the lobsters in the steamer.

….

The next morning, Trip and T'Pol were once again on Campobello Island skimming along a road in Marybeth's hovercraft.

"Perhaps it is best that we have left this vampire investigation to the police," said T'Pol glancing up from the map on her knees.

"I don't think there is much more we could do on our own in any case, T'Pol." Trip was watching the road for signs to the East Quoddy Head lighthouse. "Where do we turn off?"

"We do not. This road should end at the parking lot near the footpath to the lighthouse."

Trip slowed as a gate came into view, steering Marybeth's hovercar into the lot. "And here we are."

"Apparently, if we believe the sign on the fence."

T'Pol's dry Vulcan humor was a welcome way for Trip to unwind. Vacation. A little exercise, something new to see. This was just as good as Hawaii would have been.

They followed a rocky path to a cliff edge. Looking down, there was a long metal ladder to the beach where waves with foamy edges lapped over the gravel and around the rocks before retreating back into the sea. On the far side of the beach, another ladder climbed up the rough cliff face to an island. At the top of that ladder was a large sign with a warning about the tide.

"We will get a bit of exercise today," said Trip.

"As expected, from my perusal of a nautical chart Marybeth keeps by her desk," said T'Pol.

It took them five minutes to carefully descend the ladder and pick their way across the beach. They walked to the water's edge. An incoming wave, a little higher than the rest, splashed up T'Pol's ankle. It felt cold. Since their low tide time was short, they moved on to ascend the ladder to the island and followed the winding path that dipped and rose on the thin rocky soil along the cliff edge. There were wild flowers and blueberry bushes, but no juicy berries yet. Trip stopped here and there to see if he could find any ripe ones.

The island jutted out into the ocean, a stubborn promontory that had resisted the endless battering of the ocean for ages. That is why a lighthouse had been built here, easily seen for miles out into the Atlantic. They stood under the newly painted wooden tower, its bright red cross on a gleaming white background.

"The Lighthouse Preservation Society takes good care of this place," Trip observed. "As the last wooden lighthouse on the east coast, it was in great disrepair when I was a kid. Because of LORAN, then GPS navigation, all the lighthouses were turned off, one by one, in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. I read that the society bought this one just before they were about to tear it down. There are very few lighthouses still standing today. Most became privately owned residences and the rest were luckily bought by preservation groups."

"Impressive structure," noted T'Pol, thinking of a bright beam of light being sighted in the dark by a wave tossed sailor - her point of reference being an approach to a brightly lit space station after months of faint stars in a vast black void.

They lingered for an hour on the island, walking around the low square buildings at the foot of the lighthouse. Large windows had been retrofitted into these work sheds. They had sensors which detected the approach of tourists, floodlighting the interiors so the museum tableaus could be seen. Trip and T'Pol read the signs explaining about the breeches buoys and Lyle guns and surf boats. Then T'Pol mentioned the tide, remembering the cold water slapping her ankle. So they walked back to the ladder.

The whole beach was now wet with the incoming tide. This time, it pulled at her feet, though it barely covered her shoes. They hurried toward the other ladder which was occupied by a figure swiftly descending it with his back to them. He jumped down the last rung and turned, pulling his jacket over something under his arm, hiding it.

As he ran past them, Trip yelled "The tide's coming in, buddy. Better come back with us."

The man ignored him.

"Trip! That man has your communicator and note padd under his coat! He must have broken into Marybeth's car!"

Trip gave chase, followed by T'Pol. They ran back toward the island, and in their shock at being robbed, not noticing that in the last couple of minutes the tide had come in a bit above their ankles. Its force pulled them sideways, slowing them so they were forced to make leaping steps over to the island ladder. Up they went, pounding on the metal rungs, and then running along the path, trying to keep away from the cliff edge in case they stumbled.

Trip noticed the man had an uneven running gate, a limp. Maybe this was their vampire? Shit! The guy had just tossed the communicator over the cliff. The padd followed. Anger spiked in Trip. He didn't have to do that! There were two witnesses to the fact that he had them. Shit!

The thief hesitated when he reached the base of the lighthouse. There were few places to hide. He turned and faced Trip as T'Pol skidded to a stop beside him.

"Give it up, man," said Trip. "You can't get off the island now. Tide's too deep. T'Pol, you have your communicator. Call the Campobello Island police department."

T'Pol flipped open her communicator, but the man lunged at her, knocking it out of her hand. She neck pinched him and he wilted at her feet, but the communicator had smashed on the point of a rock and lay broken open on the ground.

Trip squatted and rolled the man's shoulder.

"He will be unconscious for at least ten minutes, Trip. I pinched him hard."

"Good," Trip said as he gathered the pieces of the communicator. "T'Pol, I don't think I can fix this."

"Great. Just great," she responded with almost Human annoyance. "Eight hours that man in the bog said. We must see if we can break into the lighthouse to take shelter because the wind is increasing and rain clouds are approaching."

Trip sighed. "And what are we going to do with HIM?"

"There was some rope in one of those displays which we can use that to secure him. Repeated neck pinching can be hazardous."

"So we break into two buildings."

"Only one, if we take shelter in the display."

Trip thought better of voicing the fact that this was a Vulcan proposing museum vandalism after decrying Human behavior in protected environmental areas.

"These violations fall under the needs of expediency," T'Pol told her mate. It was almost as if she had read the thoughts he had been shielding. But then, she knew him well enough to guess his thought process.

Trip responded by lifting the thief under the shoulders. T'Pol then lifted the man's feet and they carried him to the out building that T'Pol had seen the rope in. It only took Trip's Starfleet ID card to jimmy the lock on the door. Once inside, it was easy to tie the hands and feet of the thief. They sat on the floor with their backs against a section of wall that was bare of displays, and waited.

They only waited two hours. The local Lighthouse Society maintenance worker, who happened to live on Campobello Island, discovered a vehicle left in the lot. He had a good idea where the owner was and called for a police aircar to go pick up the most recent careless tourist who seemed unable to read tide tables.

T'Pol heard the engine first. She and Trip went outside to stand in the open waving their arms slowly up and down in a universal distress signal. The aircar put down next to them; the stern faces and shaking heads of two officers could be seen through the tinted windshield glass.

"There is another one. He's tied up inside," Trip said indicating which building.

The thief was awake and testing his bonds when Officer Mickelson knelt beside him. "Hello, Dan. What did you take this time."

"Don't have nothing now," Dan answered belligerently.

"That is true," said T'Pol, standing behind the officer. "He threw my husband's communicator and data padd over the cliff. And I think it logical to say there has been damage to our vehicle."

Officer Mickelson looed up at her. "There was. Marybeth's hovercar. I know all the local vehicles on the island and in Lubec. This character just got out of jail last week and came right back home to bother tourists again. Dan, here, used to hide his stolen goods in one of these outbuildings before they were fixed up as a museum. He must have thought he still could, and that is why he came here instead of taking his loot to his wife's place."

The officer looked apologetically at T'Pol. "We are mostly a law abiding lot around here. Sorry you folks had to run into one of our few bad apples."

"This guy just got out of jail?" asked Trip, "he wasn't around here all summer?"

"That's right," said Officer Michelson. "He just finished a six month stretch."

"So," said Trip, "he could not have been the one scaring those kids on the bog walks. But what about this limp of his?"

"Yeah, man, I been in jail. What's it to ya?" Dan snarled at Trip. Then he glared at T'Pol. "And if its any of your business, I dropped a hammer on my foot yesterday fixing that cheap Vulky re-sequencer my wife has."

Officer Mickelson cuffed Dan and pushed him toward the aircar, but directed a comment toward Trip and T'Pol. "It will be crowed in our aircar, but we will be letting you off in the parking lot. I think you can still drive that hovercar, even with the broken window. Marybeth keeps a broom in the trunk, so you will be able to brush the broken glass off the seats."

….

That evening, because she was feeling guilty about her guests being robbed by someone from her community, Marybeth treated them to dinner at a local restaurant. And because Trip and T'Pol felt guilty about Marybeth's car being damaged while in their care, they accepted, rather than just going to their room to read and meditate before turning in early.

The restaurant staff set out as much food as Marybeth had at home in her kitchen. Trip and T'Pol were hungrier than they realized and gorged themselves before pushing back from the table.

As Marybeth handed a credit card to the waitress, she said "That was kind of you, Charles, to offer to fix Mrs. Fox's re-sequencer after her husband, Dan, robbed you and all. But when I called her with your offer, she said he had taken a hammer to it in anger and it is beyond repair now. How about a walk on the beach behind the restaurant? Let's walk off the potato soup and scallops."

"Vulcans don't make shoddy equipment," said Trip. "I had to make the offer to uphold the reputation of my wife's people," Trip grinned impishly and patted T'Pol's hand.

This beach was sandy. T'Pol took off her sandals to feel the grains between her toes. If she closed her eyes, she could almost believe it was a very cold day on her home world.

"What'ch thinking, Hon?" Trip was concerned that T'Pol have at least one peaceful vacation day over these two weeks. Today was certainly not it.

"I was contemplating the nature of environmentalists, since our vampire seems to behave like one."

"The nature of those who care about nature?" quipped her husband.

Marybeth laughed. "Right on this very beach two hundred years ago, we had some touchy environmentalists. They thought our community backward and uncaring about the land and ocean which fed us. They were wrong, of course. We care very deeply and have been around long enough to notice the changes - the depletion of fish, the commercial tourist build up creeping up from Bar Harbor. That is why we still fished the old way and hung onto our land, keeping it out of the hands of developers. It was a loosing battle though, big money always seems to win. Then the Third World War broke out and no one was coming here anymore to build the resorts prematurely advertised on billboards along the highway."

"As they say, it is a very bad war that no one profits from," said Trip. He saw the puzzled look Marybeth gave him and qualified his words. "Not that I enjoy war, especially after having the crap knocked out of my ship in The Expanse."

"I saw the news reports on that," said Marybeth. "The pride of our world, our great ship of exploration - on fire, with huge jagged, blackened holes from alien attacks. My grandchildren sitting around me on the couch and on the rug in front of the screen were all crying. I think that has set a stamp on their childhood which will affect them until the day they pass on to their reward. Both of you were on that ship. You just cannot know how much we care about you and what you did to save our world, and Vulcan, and all the other worlds that are joining in a federation to keep space safe for future explorers."

Trip was near tears himself. After what Terra Prime had done to him and T'Pol, he had held a different view of what the people of Earth thought. It was very gratifying to think that in small communities all over the planet there were people who cared. People who remembered and wanted to do something about it. The future recruits of Starfleet would come from people like this. He squeezed T'Pol's hand.

The rapture of the moment was broken when Marybeth continued "These two women environmentalists were measuring the size of this dead whale that had washed up on the beach right here where the high school was then. The kids were curious, but the women tried to ignore them and answered their questions in a hostile manner. It seems they blamed us because this young whale, not yet fully grown, had drowned in a fisherman's net. We were a fishing community; therefore it must have been our net. Their preconceptions kept them from educating the children and perhaps even from enlisting their help in studying the whale. After the women left, left us with a huge decaying body, the smell practically made the school close down. So the community rallied and buried the whale right here on the beach. All those garden shovels, so small next to the whale. Yet together we did manage to get the job done."

"That is an event worthy of historical notation," said T'Pol. And Trip agreed. The three of them returned to Marybeth's damaged car in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Chapter Three

Sunday evening, Trip and T'Pol went to Marybeth's church dinner. They went early because Marybeth was helping to cook and serve and she eagerly accepted the couple's offer to help. As T'Pol donned plastic gloves to dish out potato salad, Trip piled buns on the trestle table beside the crabmeat.

"There must be three hundred people here already," Trip noted.

Marybeth looked up from tossing salad in a huge bowl. "Yes, and there will be a couple hundred more – most of the population of Lubec and half the population of Campobello Island. As you know, we are one community. Always have been, even in the days when our community was half in one country and half in another."

T'Pol was curious. "How did that come to be?"

Well, the island people intermarried with the mainland people. There used to be a customs shack on both sides of the bridge to the island. Protocol was for people to stop to be questioned twice – once by the Canadian side and then by the U.S. side. And we were only supposed to buy $40 worth of goods to take through customs. Even then, who only bought $40 worth of groceries? That was impractical. So, if you were a local, you just slowed down a little, smiled at your cousin in the customs booth and said 'nothing over' as you rolled right through from one country into another."

Trip was getting adept at filling rolls with crabmeat and passing them over the table to the slowly moving line of hungry diners. "Fascinating. I wonder if it would ever get that easy between the Federation worlds. Seems like it takes forever to get even simple trade agreements between Andorians and Vulcans."

"We used to say the world is getting smaller," said Marybeth. "Well now the universe appears to be getting smaller."

"The universe is actually expanding," T'Pol commented as she plopped a spoonful of potato salad on a plate held out to her. When the plate did not move away, she added another spoonful, with a disapproving slightly raised eyebrow.

"Well it seems like planets with sentient life are becoming closer…not physically, well, you know what I mean," quipped Marybeth as she lifted the empty salad bowl so a teenage helper could set down a full one.

"Yes, that is true in the sense that we are overcoming the physical distances by inventing faster warp ships and the cultural differences by new techniques in diplomacy," said T'Pol who noted a child had stopped the line because he was listening to her. She leaned forward to address the child. "Do you wish more food?"

"No. More words." The child was about five. He widened his eyes. "How did you sharpen your ears, do you cut them with scissors? Why is your skin such a funny color. It looks bruised. Do Vulcans have children? Where YOU ever a child? Tell me more about your world!"

There were snickers and smiles from some of the adults in line, making T'Pol wonder if some of them might have the same questions but were too inhibited to ask them.

"Child, we Vulcans do have children. And yes, I once was one. As to answering your other questions, I will do so. Later. But you must move along. It is illogical to impair the flow of people requiring food."

The child smiled and walked off toward a table filled with people intend on eating. His family most likely, thought T'Pol.

Marybeth felt a little embarrassed at the child's questions and decided to change the subject. "You know, traditions change slowly around here. My church has been serving Sunday night dinners for over three hundred years. And speaking of borders, why, my great-grandmother used to help her father on his commercial fishing boat. One time, when we still had a national border here, he had taken out a party of whale watchers to supplement his fishing income. It was a Sunday night, not unlike this one. He was also the local ambulance driver too. Back then, medical emergencies that the local clinic could not handle, he would take them to Bangor or even Boston. This one Sunday when he was out with the whale watchers, a man collapsed right here at the dinner. It was a heart attack and the doctor decided he had to be taken to Boston. So they called the Royal Canadian Ambulance from Campobello Island to take the man all the way to Boston. And no one blinked an eye when that ambulance shot past the customs shack, right down to this church, then all the way to Boston."

"Heck," Trip broke in, "Enterprise has several times dropped its mission when the Vulcans called us to do something because they would have no ships close enough to help before the situation got critical."

"That is true," said T'Pol, "and often the reverse is true."

"Well it is good to know we live in a friendly universe, even if it is expanding," said Marybeth as she tilted the bowl to empty the last of the salad onto the plate of Sarah Jones who had come back for her third helping.

….

In the midmorning sun, the West Quoddy Head lighthouse stood boldly on a cliff just outside Lubec, in its famous horizontal red and white stripes. Inside it, the voices of tourists echoed on the winding iron staircase.

"It is a shame that Human children cannot follow the rules," said T'Pol as she outdistanced Trip up the rungs. "On Vulcan…"

"On Vulcan," Trip interrupted despite being a little out of breath trying to keep up with her, "there is only sand to disturb and some nasty creatures hiding from the sun under rocks. Not much for a Vulcan kid to be interested in touching."

T'Pol bristled. There was no outward change in her demeanor, but Trip felt a brief prick of annoyance in his mind.

When T'Pol spoke again, it was with sharply enunciated words. "There are delicate areas in our deserts. That is why the desert park lands ARE protected. Just because you did not stick your hands under rocks when we toured those wilderness preserves on Vulcan does not mean some of our alien visitors have not. In fact…"

"Okay, T'Pol. I admit that in general…"

"Please do not keep interrupting me!"

"But you just interrupted me to say that!"

They reached the top of the lighthouse in a domestic ill humor. T'Pol walked out onto the railed walkway where the fresh ocean breeze hit her face. The view was fantastic and she found it difficult to hold her level of annoyance with her mate. "Trip, the climb was well worth it."

Trip peeked out the doorway, took a moment to catch his breath and glanced appraisingly at his wife, not the view. "Truce?"

"Of course. It is not logical to direct annoyance at one's mate when he is not the cause of the annoyance." She offered two fingers and he accepted them.

Trip slipped back into a happy mood. "Wow, I can see all the areas we have already explored on foot. And out there is where we saw the whales." He and T'Pol had their arguments like any couple, but it never lasted long.

T'Pol felt his good mood and thought the rest of this vacation, now that they were out of the vampire investigation, would allow them a chance to revitalize and strengthen an already strong bond before returning to their Starfleet jobs.

Then the communicator Trip borrowed from Marybeth chirped and T'Pol had an uneasy feeling.

"Yes, Charles Tucker here."

"You are sure of this?"

"Yes, I will tell her too. Good-bye."

Trip slipped his communicator back in his pocket. "T'Pol, bad news. The police had been trying to track down that kid who left Lubec years ago, Gary Lawson? Well, they found him. He died over a year ago in a hospital in New York City. This vampire stuff did not start until early this summer."

"That is regrettable. Now Annie Lawson has a son to mourn."

"But she can take comfort in the fact that he is not responsible for scaring all these children," said Trip.

"Which leaves us with a problem. Trip, I would like for us to reenter this investigation.

Since we are back in the area where the most vampire sightings have been made, I would like to make one more attempt to find this man."

Trip's mood vacillated again. "Why? What do you have in mind?"

"I would like to offer myself as bait. While we were still investigating, I borrowed some Human child attire that Marybeth had for her older grandchildren when they stay at her house. It is now in the trunk of the car. I can use the lighthouse restroom to change."

Trip sighed heavily. "I know you will not be satisfied until you do this, so I will bow to the inevitable."

A half hour later, Trip was following T'Pol along the cliff path, keeping a good distance behind her and becoming concerned whenever the path turned and she was out of sight for a few seconds. He kept her in sight better once she was on the bog walkway, but he had to let her get farther ahead for him to stay out of sight behind a tree at the edge of the bog.

T'Pol stood at the center of the bog. Now what? She tried a skipping step that she saw some Human girls doing. It seemed awkward to her, unnatural, so she stopped. She had an idea which involved the sacrifice of a few plants. Reaching down, she pulled up a plant which was growing in abundance and unlikely to threaten extinction to its species. She waved it above her head. She walked toward the far side of the bog with it. Then feeling silly, she shouted out "Look what I have picked!" waving it back at Trip as if showing off for another child.

All was quiet in the bog and T'Pol was about to give up. Before she returned to Trip, she thought she would try to replace the plant in the bog. She was lying on her stomach with her hands in the brackish water when she heard steps on the boardwalk. She felt them through the boards on her stomach and they WERE coming inhumanly quickly. She told Trip through their bond, to remain where he was until the intruder was too far into the bog to run back into the trees and escape.

She pushed back onto her knees and was about to regain her footing when he was upon her. He stood over her, the black coat covering his body down to the ankles of his rubber pond boots.

"Stay right where you are, you misbehaving child! I want you to contemplate your transgression."

His accent was like Bela Lugosi, but it seemed forced. Fake. T'Pol touched her ball cap as if fearful, but actually to make sure her ears were still covered. She felt Trip's concern and tried to calm him telepathically. She could easily take this short Human down and hold him until Trip arrived. But not quite yet.

"Well, have you nothing to say for yourself?" The man's face was half hidden under a wide brimmed straw hat. It spoiled the vampire effect, but his eyes bore into her in a way she knew would frighten children. Somehow she knew that anger was also fake, to a degree.

He looked past her to the plant floating uprooted on the water. "Can you return life once you have taken it?"

There was something familiar about the phrasing of that statement, making T'Pol uneasy so that she decided to end this right now. She stared up at him with unchildlike confidence. "No, but I can certainly take you."

He stared at her, raising one slightly slanted eyebrow in surprise. And when she leaped up and grabbed for his neck in an attempt to apply the neck pinch, somehow he evaded her. He seemed to know what she was doing. Surprised herself, she called Trip through the bond, at the same time moving to her left to get a pinch hold with her other hand. She had been trained to use either hand in the Vulcan Security Service. He evaded that too, then grabbed her shirt and with ease, threw her into the bog.

T'Pol struggled to extract herself from the sucking muck. The man was bending down, extending a hand to help her, when Trip came running up shouting "leave her alone you bastard!" The man rose and fled back toward the trees on the far side of the bog.

Trip lay prone on the boardwalk and reached out for T'Pol. Her hand fell short when she reached toward him and she had a flash of real fear as the muck pulled her down.

"Lay flat, spread your body out," urged Trip.

She did, falling forward toward him and he caught her hand.

"Okay. I have you. Don't struggle."

Trip pulled gently, steadily, and her body moved toward the boardwalk. Trip grabbed under her armpits and heaved her out. They sat side by side on the boardwalk for a minute, and then T'Pol said "We must follow him now or we may never catch him."

"He was amazingly strong for a Human; maybe we should get help," said Trip.

T'Pol looked at Trip, blinked and said "That is because he is NOT Human. That man is a Vulcan."

"Geez, T'Pol, all the more reason to get help!"

"No. He will get away." Trip felt her anger in his mind and in her voice when she said: "I find it highly unethical for an adult Vulcan male to be intimidating Human children on their own home world. If you feel we need help, go back and bring the police, but I am going after him."

T'Pol stood up and started running down the boardwalk after the vampire. Trip felt there was nothing he could do but follow. No matter how ineffective, he was going to stand with his mate and protect her to the best of his ability.

So Trip followed T'Pol off the boardwalk and up into the woods at the far side of the bog. They ran along the wood chipped trail where their footfalls were muffled. T'Pol hesitated where the path led off in two directions, each following the contour of the bog edge.

"He might take the shortest way to some ground car lot, "offered Trip.

"I think not," answered T'Pol, "he appeared like a person who would be exploring a wet environment and had been distracted in the middle of his work. His high boots were dripping and there were some tools in his overcoat pockets."

"Duck boots, maybe?" Trip though about that. "And he always lectured children about environmental damage! Could he be working for the local department of natural resources?"

"A possibility. But he does not seem the be the type of Vulcan who would be working with Humans. So I would suggest there is another reason for his presence and that he resides separate from Humans."

T'Pol chose the path that led away from Human habitation and again, Trip followed closely behind her. He moved his gaze from one side of the path to the other, trying to penetrate the trees for clues. T'Pol moved swiftly, not quite running – more of a long distance desert covering jog. When she stopped short, Trip almost ran into her but for straightening his arm against the small of her back to break his momentum. She was looking down off the trail at the indentation of a boot in the soft soil.

"This way." And she was off, tree branches snapping back at Trip where she passed through the denser woods. Trip tried to spot signs of a man's passage and keep up with T'Pol.

"Over there!" Trip pointed, spotting a faint trail of bent grasses through a clearing in the trees which was not quite bog, not completely terra firma.

T'Pol still took the lead and found more boot prints. Then she ducked under the needle-less dead lower branches of a line of fir trees. They moved through this stand of trees and straightened their backs in another clearing.

"Nothing here, now," said T'Pol.

Then she took a step forward, almost tripping over a grid defined with thin plastic line. It suddenly lit up in glowing green, a perfect square, with stakes marking the corners.

"It looks like a biologist's study grid," observed Trip.

"That is exactly what it is," T'Pol replied. "Hidden by holography until you are close enough to stumble into it. It is of Vulcan origin."

"Correct," said a male voice, as their vampire stepped into the clearing across the grid from them. His stance was confrontational, proprietary.

The vampire regarded T'Pol. "I realize now that you were setting a trap for me. You are an adult. And a Vulcan. This can only mean that my method of keeping my area of study private and also assisting the Humans in preserving their park from little marauders, has had unforeseen consequences. I was only protecting the local flora."

"But you neglected to protect the local fauna. The Human children," challenged T'Pol.

The short Vulcan lowered his head, staring into his study grid. "Am I now under arrest?"

"Not as yet." T'Pol toned down her voice a bit. "But I think we should discuss this. Perhaps a solution can be negotiated."

"Understood. Follow me to my camp."

The Vulcan strode off into the trees, a slight limp evident in his gate. T'Pol and Trip hurried around the edge of the grid, trying to keep up with him. His camp was only a few meters off, set on a knoll under some hardwood trees. The outline of two Vulcan field domes, connected by a narrow passage, started glowing green as they drew near. The shelters otherwise mirrored the tall grasses surrounding them, but the weak holographic field dissipated when the Vulcan stood next to a door which slid open. He gestured for his guests to enter the shelter that would have been more obvious in the desert with its green glow, than in this Terran woodland environment.

There was a pressurizing entrance like on a starship. It took only two minutes to adjust to the heat and air pressure of Vulcan norm. Trip sighed, accepting the change set to the comfort level of Vulcans. The lighting had a peach cast not unlike the Vulcan sky an hour after sunrise, before it became blindingly white. Trip noted the Vulcan's two domes consisted of a sleep/recreation room and a lab that he could see through the connecting passage.

Trip studied this man. The heavy coat was because he came relatively recently from Vulcan and was not used to the cooler Earth temperatures. His skin was a shade greener than T'Pols, possible a high blood pressure condition or blood vessels closer to the skin? Or maybe he was just of a different Vulcan racial subgroup than T'Pol. Yes, a child might think he looked ill.

The Vulcan's bed was a raised platform with a thin mattress. It warmed to Trip's hand when he touched it. There was a box of earplugs on a table next to the bed. The Vulcan noticed Trip's interest and said: "The rhythmic sound of the ocean waves make me seasick, even if the ocean is on the other side of the bog, a half mile away."

The Vulcan had other devices to assure his comfort and insolate him from the Terran environment. The air smelled faintly of Vulcan foods. There were vid padds on a side table and Trip could read enough of the language to see they were all Vulcan literature, except for one in English labeled 'Dracula'.

Noting Trip's shift in view, the Vulcan said: "Oh, that. Yes. For the vampire vocal accent. I requested this vid from the Vulcan compound library when the Vulcan Science Academy Terran Field Office made a supple run for me. Once the children identified me as a vampire, I wanted to project the image of a proper one."

"You did not fail in that endeavor," T'Pol told him.

"Thank you."

Trip smirked, remembering another Vulcan using that phrase. "If you brought a pet sehlat, you could have done The Hound of the Baskervilles. You could easily have impersonated the biologist Stapleton with his butterfly net in the Grimpen Mire."

"Ah, yes. I am a Sherlock Holmes fan also. Many Vulcans are. A character who uses logic to solve mysteries. But no, a sehlat would pollute the environment here with its droppings."

Trip's eyes wandered to some tools stored in a chest near the bed. Noting this, the Vulcan picked up the one on top.

"This instrument? I can program in the genetic factors for a particular plant, then hold it over a marked out quadrant and it will count the number of plants. Each quadrant in my grid system is laid out to cover a particular sub environment. I mark the edges of the quadrants with stakes on firm soil and anchored floats on the bog water. These are attached to lines that defined the quadrants of my grids for plant species counts. Then I adjust this instrument's beam so that it illuminates the entire quadrant evenly, and it counts the number of plants of a particular species. Of course it will count several species at one time. If there are unknown species in the quadrant, it will give a count of each unknown species, and then give them a name, based on the Vulcan nomenclature that is closest in genetic composition to known species."

Trip reached out his hand for the instrument, then examined it. "Clever. I have a great respect for Vulcan ingenuity."

"Humans should have respect for what we have shared with you. But some Human offspring have no respect for anything. I caught one boy, marker stake in hand, who challenged me with 'come any closer, Vampire, and I will drive your own stake through your heart.' I responded with 'you may try, child, assuming you even know where my heart is located.' The boy dropped the stake and ran. So when I looked up 'vampire' in my Human cultural database, I discovered it was some sort of mythical monster. And that gave rise to an idea to use my new status as a means to keep the Human children at bay. Now, please be seated. We have something to discuss. But first, introductions are in order. Since you know much about me already, please introduce yourselves."

Trip and T'Pol did so, to the mild shock of the Vulcan that he was conversing with the first Human/Vulcan couple of his acquaintance.

When they were settled in camp chairs, the Vulcan addressed T'Pol. "I am Dr. Satek of the Vulcan Science Academy Biology Department. I am here alone. This is not an elaborate camp, my mate did not like it here. She returned to San Francisco, taking the three additional domes with her to use in her field study of the temperate rainforest in Washington State. She is also a biological field researcher. I found the compactness of my reduced campsite to be well hidden from prying Human eyes. Until now." He raised one eyebrow and regarded Trip. "I hide from predators, not unlike the native bog residents."

"I imagine the curious children would like to study you as much as you like to study the bog. We are mostly harmless in our own native habitat," Trip informed Satek as he swatted a mosquito which seem to have followed them into the shelter. "Harmless accept to vile insects. Do the mosquitoes bother you as much as the children, Dr. Satek?"

Satek's face brightened. "Why yes, they do. I have a jar of 33 of them in my lab that are incubating viable broods with Vulcan blood. They were carefully captured off my arm once they had drunk their fill."

Trip rolled his eyes at T'Pol. "Biologists! It is a good thing engineers don't have to let their engines taste their blood." He turned to Satek. "Will you be releasing them back into the environment?"

"Of course not. They will be vaporized when I finish my study. Mosquitoes gestated in Vulcan blood may have an unnatural effect on this Terran environment."

"Good to hear," Trip quipped. "One more question if it is not too personal. Why do you limp?"

"Ah that," said Satek, "an injury acquired during my Kas Wan, the coming of age test all Vulcan children must go through. As you must have noticed, I am shorter in stature than the average Vulcan. The handholds on the cliff faces in the desert area where the Kas Wan is done, even though made for the average size seven-year-old Vulcan child, were too far apart for me. I fell thirty feet, twisting my foot. Unwilling to give up, I walked, then crawled to the termination point to pass my Kas Wan. The bones were so damaged they wanted to disarticulate my foot. My mother would not allow that. As a consequence, I limp."

Satek lifted his leg with his hands on the knee and placed it in a more comfortable position. "Even though it is occasionally painful, I will not disrespect my mother by going against her decision and replace my natural foot with an artificial one. Children should always honor their parents. From the little I have observed, and no offense intended, I do not see the same respect given by Human children to their parents. I do not know if there is an equivalent to the Kas Wan for Human children."

"Not in all of our cultures," Trip answered. "I respect my parents, but I would not have rejected surgery as an adult as you have done. And my parents certainly would not have expected me kept to a decision made for me in childhood if a better way was later found."

Satek raised an eyebrow, but nodded in acknowledgement to Trip.

"Culture varies on Vulcan too," added T'Pol. "For instance, my mother would have approved of me having such surgery if I decided I needed it. She would not feel insulted if I thought my decision was better than hers. It is only logical to seek relief from pain."

"Logic is relative to the culture it is practiced in," said Satek."

Trip grinned and did not challenge that statement.

Silence reigned for a couple of minutes.

Then T'Pol said "I am a trained Vulcan security officer. How did you, an academic, evade my attempt to take you down, and then, overpower me?"

Satek looked straight at her. "There is a logical explanation for that. As an undersized, and after my Kas Wan a semi-crippled child, my self esteem was low. My parents enrolled me in a martial arts school. I studied there until my undergraduate years at the VSA, at which time I entered the All-Vulcan Non-military Martial Arts Competition. I placed third out of seven hundred competitors," said Satek, pride leaking into his voice.

"Belated congratulations," said T'Pol, her own self esteem restored. And now, let us discuss our little problem."

Dr. Satek folded his hands in his lap, seemingly completely at ease. Trip knew different, now that he had come to knew Vulcans better.

Satek spoke quietly. "I realize I will now have to deal personally with adult Humans. This disquiets me. Though I have had orientation courses at the VSA to Human culture,

I have personally avoided interaction with Humans. Biology is my field, not anthropology. If my mate had stayed to help, I am sure she would have had a better way to deal with those annoying children." Satek's hands moved nervously in his lap.

"Then let us get to the center of the problem, Dr. Satek," said T'Pol. "You have not intentionally violated any law of this planet. But the fact that your demeanor was a premeditated act, with the purpose to intimidate, might be interpreted as a public nuisance under Human law. Since you are an alien resident, you may have a representative of the Vulcan embassy with you when we go to the local police."

"Must it come to that?" asked Satek. "I am nearly finished with my studies here, so I do not mind entering into negotiations over my behavior. But can I not return to the Vulcan compound in San Francisco and have these proceedings conducted at the Vulcan embassy building?"

"Perhaps," said T'Pol. "But it would be better for the psychological health of the local Human population and for Vulcan/Human relations if you simply cooperated with the local authorities."

Satek audibly sighed. It showed how agitated he really was. "Alright, then. I will do as you ask. Will you accompany me until an embassy functionary arrives?"

"Of course," answered Trip and T'Pol together, drawing Satek's eyes to Trip. And Trip could almost read the look on the Vulcan's face which might be saying "perhaps it would not be a bad idea to be escorted by a Vulcan/Human pair".

….

It was the last day of their vacation and Trip was again behind the serving table at a church dinner in Lubec. T'Pol passed him a plate on which she had put a bit of mixed salad. Trip added a baked potato wrapped in foil and handed the plate on to Dr. Satek who scooped up a spoonful of butternut squash, handing the plate on to Marybeth to add the beef.

Satek was using nose plugs so as not to get nauseated from the smell of meat. He had been treated to the crustacean dinner regimen at Marybeth's house and had surprised himself by enjoying it. This church dinner would add three more hours totaling twenty out of the hundred hours of community service he had been sentenced to in the local courthouse. Not an entirely illogical sentence, he thought.

And tomorrow he was going out with Matt to inspect lobster traps. This was not part of his community service, but Satek had negotiated with Matt to exchange this day of work for a day on the field grids at the bog. They were to be enthusiastically assisted by ten of the local children who had been fascinated by the lecture given at their school, by an alien, on this great treasure that existed right in their own community. And they were all looking forward to next week's lecture on the Fire Plains of Vulcan.

The End

….

**Endnote**: The whale sliding under the fishing boat (in reality it was a small rowboat), the dead whale on the beach, and the Canadian ambulance sent to Boston, are true stories with very little alteration. The joke about pulling down your window shades to eat lobster was something my brother picked up when he first arrived in Lubec. It is a familiar venue for me as my brother worked as a podiatrist in Lubec for several years and I made a few visits there. The Marybeth character is loosely based on a friend of my brother and myself who is a lifelong resident of the area.

I may have stretched it a little giving the impression there was a lot of water in the bog. I don't know, because I never fell in it myself (or picked any plants out of it). The Carrying Place bog ten years ago looked filled solid with plants, but there probably was a lot of water under them.

Maybe someday the East Quoddy Head lighthouse might have museum displays in its outbuildings; it would be a great idea! But the displays I mentioned are from other maritime museums I have been in. The thief and the local boy accused of child abuse are completely fictional.

The Vulcan biological science and campsite description are based on what little I remember from biology 101 and my own imagination. Taking a page from the ENT Fusion episode: if there can be chubby Vulcans, there can be short Vulcans like Satek.

I have tried to be true to the 'spirit of place' Down East. Any discrepancy in that is due to 'creative license' in the attempt to make this story more interesting - or to a faulty memory of good times long past. But I cherish the memory of warm open-hearted people who welcomed me and my brother and wanted us to stay and become part of their community. But life took us both elsewhere.

I have some photos I took ten years ago of the Lubec area included with this story on the Triaxian Silk web site. The title of this story there is "A Vampire in the Bog". For more recent photos and info on the Lubec and Campobello Island area, try these links:

http://en.


End file.
